Or, if she gie a random sting,
It may be little minded;
But when on life we're tempest-driv'n—
A conscience but a canker—
A correspondence fix'd wi' Heav'n
Is sure a noble anchor.
Adieu, dear amiable youth!
Your heart can ne'er be wanting!
May prudence, fortitude, and truth
Erect your brow undaunting.